Art for art's sake? Or art as a commodity? What makes you cry? What can happen to you to prevent you from ever crying again?

To an Artist

Your work that to my inward sight still comes,
Fruit of your graced labours:
The gold of always-autumnal limes,
The blue of today-created waters-

Simply to think of it, the faintest drowse
Already has led me into your parks
Where, fearful of every turning, I lose
Consciousness in a trance, seeking your tracks.

Shall I go under this vault, transfigured by
The movement of your hand into a sky,
To cool my shameful heat?

There I shall become forever blessed,
There my burninig eyelids will find rest,
And I'll regain a gift I've lost - to weep.

Akhmatova (1924)

I'd give them this poem in Russian and for homework they would translate it into English. Translation is interpretation - we would then compare our poems and discuss why we chose a particular word - how it express what Akhmatova wanted to say. Sometimes (the best times), the poem didn't come out quite as the above translation does.

(I wanted to post a poem 2 hours ago, but when I got my books out, I got lost in reading poetry!!! Bliss.)

I release the earth and I imprison the skies. I fall down in order to stay faithful to
the light, in order to make the world ambiguous, fascinating, changeable, dangerous, in
order to announce the steps beyond.
The blood of the gods is still fresh on my clothes. A seagull's scream echoes
through my pages. Let me just pack up my words and leave.

Mikilina, as you can see, there is a heavy slant towards Anna's poetry on this thread. Perhaps it should be renamed Anna's poetry corner? Here's one I found while lost in books. Seems vaguely apt for teachers, and for students about to emigrate...IELTS certificate in hand.

Departure

Although this land is not my own,
I will remember its inland sea
and the waters that are so cold
the sand as white
as old bones, the pine trees
strangely red where the sun comes down.

Working on a new piece, "The March of the TEFL Teachers". Feel free to add a verse of your own.

They're on their way to work, they are, hurrah! hurrah!
They've fought the Moscow crowds they have, hurrah! hurrah!
They've explained the present perfect three times
Read everything in the Moscow Times
There's still one group to teach at nine
Before they're off to have a pint
Said the tefl teacher "пойдем на пиво, давай!"

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.
Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you I have found aloneness
And the joy of being shunned and scorned.
Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
And to be understood is to be leveled down,
And to be grasped is but to reach one's fullness
And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.
Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
You shall hear my songs and my cries an my silences,
And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
And urging of seas,
And of mountains that burn in the night,
And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.
Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
And we shall be dangerous.

Too long to be posted, but here is a link to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. For anyone who feels shackled to the classroom this summer, just remember that things could always take a decided turn for the worst...